Matvei awoke to the scent of burnt toast and eggs. He realized he was in his bedroom, his father's shirt clutched tightly to his chest. He quickly stashed it in his backpack before his mother could try to put his father's shirt in the laundry. He heard his mother talking on the phone and carefully walked over to the door, opening it a little.

He couldn't see much from his vantage view, so Matvei quietly descended the stairwell, staying near the railing. Apparently the conversation ended because his mother hung up and returned to her cooking. Matvei looked around, but Vengimi was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Dad?" Matvei asked his mother, daring to walk in the kitchen. He held the backpack in his hand, unwilling to part with it.

Nadima was sober today. She had showered and was wearing a flowery dress, her hair brushed and neatly styled. Nadima turned to Matvei, glancing at him as she cooked eggs on the stovetop.

"He's not here," Nadima said crisply. She set the eggs on a plate and dipped the skillet in the sink. "You want milk or orange juice?"

"Just water," Matvei said, not moving from where he stood. "Who were you on the phone with?"

"Vengimi's workplace. He didn't show up to work today and they asked about him. This is the second time he missed work." Nadima belligerently placed the silverware on the table. "Looks like he truly ran off, kid. Left us both."

"Dad would never leave me," Matvei said surely. "Maybe he had somewhere to go."

"He ditched us, Matvei. He's not coming back." Nadima placed Matvei's glass of water on the table next to his plate.

"How do I know you didn't kill him?" Matvei quietly asked, looking directly at Nadima.

Nadima gave Matvei an incredulous look of startlement. "Are you accusing me of murder?" she asked him, her voice raised in disbelief. "My own son, thinking I murdered his father?" She scoffed at the ridiculousness.

"Dad would never leave without a reason. Dad loves me. He cares for me, unlike you!" Matvei said in response. He knew Nadima hurt his father somehow, though he wasn't aware how, Matvei didn't want to know.

He abruptly turned and left the house, not wanting to be around his mother, fearing she would inflict harm on him.

Nadima scowled at the door as it shut swiftly behind Matvei. Like father, like son, Nadima thought as she angrily swiped her hand across the table, pushing the plates off and making them crash on the floor in fury, scattering food contents and sharp ceramic pieces.

Matvei ran to his friend's house, the same friend he spent the night over on the same night Vengimi was picked up in Keth's ship.

Jeremie was surprised to see Matvei again, but he let him inside the house. Matvei felt like he was in a different world, an untroubled world where kids happily watched cartoons and ate cereal on Friday mornings, rather than skipping breakfast to hide from an abusive parent.

Jeremie's mother Alicia glanced at Matvei's clothes, rumpled from sleep. She took in the silent, thin frame as he nervously perched on a chair, his thoughts elsewhere. He was clutching his backpack, holding it tightly. Next to Matvei, Jeremie was eating cereal and watching cartoons before school.

Alicia poured some milk into a bowl of cereal and placed it in front of Matvei, saying, "Matvei dear, you should have some breakfast. Don't be afraid to ask if you want cereal."

"Thank you, Frau Lisen," Matvei said, carefully moving closer to the table.

Matvei lived in Mondlicht, Germany. Frau was how married women were addressed, like Mrs. Unmarried women were addressed as Fraulein, like Miss. Herr was addressed to men, like Mister. Matvei was saying, "Thank you, Mrs. Lisen."

What a polite young man, Alicia thought as she watched Matvei eat cereal. I wonder why his mother didn't iron his clothes.

After breakfast and cartoons, Matvei and Jeremie were picked up by the school bus. Alicia waved at them as they got on the bus, and the boys waved back as the bus began to take them to school.

Since Matvei didn't bring lunch, Jeremie shared his lunch with him. Matvei was thankful for school because it allowed him to escape from home. He diligently did his schoolwork, knowing his father would want him to do well in school.

After school, Matvei hoped to be at Jeremie's house again, but Jeremie said he was going somewhere with his parents after they were to pick up his sister from ballet class. Lucky, Matvei thought as he reluctantly walked alone, wishing he had a normal family like Jeremie's. A family where parents loved each other and their children instead of mistreating them.

Matvei spent a long time in the forest before he mustered the courage to finally go home. He opened the door, but Vengimi wasn't there. Nadima turned around, casting a sharp glance at him, so Matvei went back out, not returning until nightfall.

Several weeks passed before Matvei received a notice in the mail, a paper congratulating him on a successful school transfer. Startled, Matvei went in his parents' bathroom where Nadima was doing her hair and makeup before she was to go to work in a grocery store.

"Mom, what is this? I didn't transfer schools!" Matvei said in alarm, showing her the paper.

"Oh yes you did. As of this week, you will be attending Sierran Elementary School," said Nadima, turning to look directly at Matvei. "I'm fed up with you constantly running off to your friend Jeremie's house, so you will be transferring to another public school."

Matvei stared at Nadima in shock. No more early morning cereal and cartoons, no more examples of a kind nurturing mother like Alicia Lisen, no more hugs and books from Jeremie's father Brieden Lisen, no more nice car rides and peaceful sleepovers. The only relief was that the school bus would still take him to school every morning, just to a different one.

This was what caused Matvei to retaliate and yell, all his frustration and loneliness finally releasing in the form of anger as he vented, shouting in protest. He tore the paper in two, his eyes flashing with indignant anger.

Nadima stared hard at Matvei, the moment feeling like an eternity under her cold gaze. At last, she said somberly, "You are the mirror image of your father. You look exactly like your father."

The dim light on the kitchen wall cast the mother's shadow over the boy, covering him in darkness. It seemed like even the walls flinched at the horrid sound of a slap, piercing through the air like the crack of a whip, but worse since it was done out of malicious anger, with no love or concern.

That, unfortunately, was only the beginning of Nadima's cruelty she would bestow upon her own child.